I’m hard at work here. For my part I find the summer here very beautiful, more beautiful than any I ever experienced in the north, but the people here are complaining a great deal that it’s not the same as usual. Rain now and then in a morning or afternoon, but infinitely less than at home. The harvest already long in. It’s very windy, though, and a very nasty, nagging wind, the mistral, usually troublesome enough when I have to paint in it, like when I lay my canvas flat on the ground and work on my knees. Because the easel doesn’t stand firm.